by Paul Blades
Carol nodded understandingly, relief flashing over her face. What had Klitzman done to her, I asked myself. She must have spent every moment that the fat man’s attention had been drawn her way suffering, or quaking in fear of suffering.
I ordered her to lie on the floor again. I could see that every strain put on her back muscles caused a wave of agony to course through her. She moaned as she placed her outstretched body on the rug. Now, I was somewhat concerned about appearing soft where slave girls were concerned, but I couldn’t see letting the girl suffer when there was no one there to enjoy it. Whatever lesson was supposed to have been taught by the vicious beating she received was probably already well learned. In any case, there didn’t seem any reason to let the marks on the girl’s back scar and suppurate if it could be prevented.
“Stay here,” I told the girl. “When the drug starts to take effect, I am going to rub ointment in your back.”
“Yes, master,” I heard her murmur.
I left to have a smoke and finish off another three fingers of scotch. About fifteen minutes later I returned to the living room. The slave girl was passed out. I opened the tube of ointment and began gently rubbing it into her striped back. I could feel the heat of her wounds as I ran my hand softly over them. She moaned in her delirium as I worked the salve into all of the lacerations. When I was done, I stood up to consider the naked female.
She was shapely and had graceful thighs. I had strewn her long, brown, braided hair on the side of her head when I had knelt down to treat her. Her ample breasts peeked out of her sides as they lay mashed beneath her. Her chest rose and fell peacefully, probably the first peaceful moment she had had since she fell into Klitzman’s hands.
“Now what?” I thought. Was I supposed to be a caretaker for this pitiful creature? For how long? And what would I do with her when I was done?
Her otherwise inviting body reminded me that I had no companion for the night. I could call down to the club and have one of the girls sent up to me, but they were probably just starting to get busy. Or I could call what I referred to as ‘central casting’ and have a fresh whore sent up. I decided on the latter, as the whores in my nightclub were probably pretty busy right now.
About a half hour later, there was a knock on my door. One of the guards had a black haired, light skinned girl in tow, her mouth gagged and her hands bound behind her back. She had a beautiful, pale skinned body and almost bright red nipples on her pleasing round breasts. The guard handed me her leash and I escorted her into the cottage. I motioned for her to kneel and I undid her leash. “My name is Harry,” I started to tell her. Then I noticed that her eyes were as wide as saucers. She had begun to whine and rock her body. I looked around at where her eyes were directed and I saw what she saw. There was an unconscious slave on my floor with a scoured back. Next to her was a small, steel cage on wheels with the door wide open. I put two and two together. The black haired slave girl believed that I had tortured the other slave into unconsciousness and then had called for fresh meat. I knelt down in front of her and held her shoulders.
“Do you speak English?” I asked her. Her terrified eyes signaled affirmatively.
“I didn’t do that, and I’m not going to hurt you. Understand?”
The black haired girl nodded her head uncertainly.
“I’m going to undo your gag and I want you to tell me your name.” I instructed her. In spite of my cautions, her eyes were brimming with tears of fright. I unleashed the gag from behind her head and slowly drew the thick leather plug from her mouth.
“Oh, please don’t beat me, master!” she begged as her lips were freed. “I’ll pleasure you, I’ll be very good, I promise, master! But please don’t hurt me, please!”
I held my hand over her lips. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I reassured her. “Now what’s your name?”
“M-Mary, master.” she whimpered.
“Okay, Mary. I’m going to undo your arms and you’re going to help me to get this young slave girl to bed, okay?”
Mary nodded her head. “And you know that slaves are never to speak unless spoken to, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, master,” she said frightened that she had earned a punishment.
“Just remember that,” I told her. “I try to be a kind master, but if I don’t enforce the rules, you might forget yourself in front of someone who’s not. Understand?”
“Yes, master,” she said timidly.
I ordered her to turn around and I freed her wrists from their confinement. I pointed to Carol. “I don’t want to hurt her back, so I’m going to grab her arms and torso and I want you to lift her legs. Got that?”
“Yes, master,” she answered uncertainly. I could tell that she didn’t quite know what to make of all this. Neither did I. But I did want Carol to be locked into her slave alcove and I didn’t want to lift her on her back.
I grabbed Carol’s upper arms and when Mary had her feet, we lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. We brought her over to the little slave niche and lowered her onto a pallet. The girl with the tattered back gave out a great sigh as her body settled on the stuffed, cotton bedding. I fastened her ankle to a ring in the floor and her wrists to one at the head of her slave bed.
I stood up and took in the sleeping form of the slave girl Carol. Deep within a drug induced slumber, I guessed that she was in a more pleasant place than she had been for some time. Reality would beckon for her soon enough. But that was not my problem, I reminded myself. I didn’t bring her here to Klitzman’s home for wayward girls and I couldn’t free her.
I looked over at the slave girl Mary. There was something about the way that she looked at Carol that made me curious. “Do you know her?” I asked.
Mary looked at me as if I had asked her to confess a crime or that she had been discovered planning one.
“Y-yes, master,” she eked out.
“How?”
“W-we were kidnapped together,” the black haired girl said, her eyes brimming with tears. I realized that seeing Carol had brought back some terrible memories for Mary. She certainly was rethinking her abduction, how unfair it was, how cruel. I needed to do something to bring her into the present, to remind her of what she was now and of her powerlessness.
“Come with me, slave,” I ordered her, my voice stern.
I walked into the living room. There was a chain that descended from the ceiling in the corner. I led the frightened black haired slave girl to it.
“Give me your wrists,” I ordered her.
She slowly, reluctantly, extended her wrists. I affixed them to the end of the chain and then pulled her to her toes. I could tell that she was terrorized by her predicament. In order to save her additional punishment, I took her gag, which had been dropped to the floor earlier, and reinserted it in her mouth. This way, even if she wanted to beg and plead for mercy, she could not. That would spare her extra strokes of my whip.
Her eyes were brimming with tears. Her thighs and knees were actually shaking. Her pale breasts rippled beautifully as she dangled at my chain. I reached over and grabbed a nipple in my fingers. I played with it until it became hard and stiff. Then I did the other one. The effect of having her nipples caressed produced the desired reaction from the girl. The skin of her breasts was taught and her areolas had developed little circling rows of goose bumps.
The girl had beautiful skin, soft and smooth, and unmarred by scar or other deformity. Its whiteness was almost a light cream color, made paler by the blackness of her full head of wavy black hair. I rubbed the girl’s plump breasts, sighing with desire. What was it about the beauty of a woman that set men’s hearts afire? Were their cunts any hotter or smoother? Were their mouths more skilled? I knew that beauty did not necessarily equate with passion, as I had fucked a number of the stunning showgirls looking for jobs in Atlantic City where my former boss operated. When he was done testing them out, he would send them uptown to his boys. Some of the best looking ones had to be urged with a slap or a pain
fully twisted arm to show more enthusiasm for their task, while some took to fucking strange men like a duck to water.
I could tell that Mary had not taken to it. She was obviously new to her chains and I guessed that this might even be her first trip up into the rough world of Klitzman’s resort from the below ground slave’s dorms. But someone had made a special effort to hurt her. And it had made her frantically desirous of avoiding pain.
Her stark, blue eyes peered at me from above her face shield. Was it hatred I was seeing? She better get over that too. It was an open invitation to abuse. Once it was known that she maintained a spark of resistance, guys would line up for the chance to beat it out of her.
“I’m going to give you three strokes, Mary,” I told her as I caressed her breasts. “One is for talking without permission. The second one is for that look you just gave me. You can hate your masters all you want, but you better not show it. And the third is to remind you that you are a slave and must serve willingly and without reservation. Do you understand?”
The dark haired girl nodded her head slightly in reluctant affirmation. Her eyes conveyed her abject fear. I walked over to and opened the wall mounted chest and selected a strong, leather encased riding crop. If there were only to be three blows, I wanted them to be good ones. I swished the crop in the air for effect. Mary began a low grade whine. I crossed behind her to select my target. The girl started to lift her legs, one by one, nervously. I had left some slack in the chain that held her hands up above her. “Stand still!” I ordered. The girl froze in position. “Put your legs together,” I told her.
Mary placed her thighs together and her whole body cringed in preparation for the delivery of a blow. I brought my right arm back and I brought the crop down on the cheeks of her ass with as much force as I could bring to bear. There was a loud ‘crack!’ as the riding crop found its target. The girl moaned with pain, her knees turning to jelly, her weight hanging on her chained wrists. I could see her hands clenched as she tried to absorb the painful messages from her rear globes. A thick line of red had already appeared, a line that would darken and turn deep purple before morning.
I walked around to the front of the girl. Her eyes were large and round and filled with tears. Her arms were shaking over her head as she dreaded my next blow. She had regained her feet and shied away from me. “Stand still!” I roared at her. Terrified, the girl ceased her movement.
“If you move again,” I told her, “I will give you five more strokes with this riding crop. Do you understand?”
Mary uttered a pitiful “Mmmmpf!” in response, wagging her head up and down. She shut her eyes as if to wish me and her new life away. But it couldn’t be wished away. And if she were going to survive, she would have to learn how to deal with a stern master.
“Open your eyes,” I instructed her, my voice lower, but firm. Her eyelids popped open. I stepped back away from her so that I could get a full extension on my arm. I drew my arm back and unleashed it, landing a mighty stroke across the tops of the girl’s thighs. “Crack!’ The sound echoed through the room as did Mary’s howl of pain. “Owmmmmmmpf!” she called out behind her gag. “Oooooooooooooh!”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She tried to crisscross her legs to assuage the burning fire across he thighs where the riding crop fell. My cock was rock hard as I leered at her dancing body, the quiver of her breasts, the gracefulness of her agonized thighs. She was a beautiful, comely, young woman. Why did I get such a sexual thrill at seeing her dance at the whip? Was I trying to destroy her beauty? Or was there something deep, dark inside my soul that needed the pain of another to assuage it? I didn’t know. All I knew was that the thick line of red that appeared across her thighs energized me. I had promised her three strokes, but part of me wanted to give her a hundred. What kind of man was I becoming? I thought.
But then, pushing aside all of my qualms, I remembered that I owed the black haired beauty another blow. She was whining and crying miserably. Her eyes begged for mercy. If she could have talked, I was sure she would have offered me up her soul to avoid the next bite of the riding crop. But I didn’t want her soul, I wanted her pain.
I circled around the desperate girl twice. I had already decided where to land the final blow, but I wanted to keep the poor girl guessing. I rubbed her hips and back with the tip of the crop, making her flinch and squirm. When I passed around her right side for the third time, I swung the crop back and landed a fierce blow to the miserable girl’s breasts. Her eyes lit up with horrified surprise. She burst into a piteous howl and shook her chest, causing her pretty breasts to sway and bounce. I had struck her directly across the nipples and a thin line of blood descended from one of them.
Mary slumped in her chain as she tried to let the woeful pain of her breasts surcease. I watched her, sweat glistening all over her body, tears flowing down her face. As I took in her defeated form, I was thankful that I had promised the girl only three blows, happy that I could still dilute my worst instincts by my restraint.
Even as I rued my fierce assault on the young girl’s body, I realized that I had done the right thing. She had broken one of the most basic rules when she had arrived at my cottage. If it had been another master, she might have been flogged to within an inch of her life. If she didn’t learn her lesson, she might be sent back for retraining, where I was sure she would be treated more miserably and more cruelly than she had before. She was a slave girl, like it or not. Her life from here on in would be brutish and nasty and short. But there were levels of suffering, and she needed to be taught so that she could avoid the worst.
I lifted her chin and forced the now calming young woman to look me in the eyes. “I promised you three strokes and I gave you three. Fair enough?”
She nodded woefully. “I’m going to release your arms. I want you to go to the bedroom, get up on the bed and get ready for me. I want your pussy good and wet when I come in, understand?”
The girl nodded, her starry blue eyes staring back at me. I undid her wrists and she scurried away as quick as she could go. I took my time pouring myself another glass of scotch and walked out onto the veranda. Evening had fallen and I looked out across the cliffs that bordered my cottage. I could see the waves crashing up against the rocks far down below, the white caps reflecting the moonlight night. The stars were out and spread across the sky like a thousand sparkling sequins.
It rained on the just and the unjust alike, I thought. The beautiful night sky served as a canopy for bright, young happy lovers, free women of heart and vision, living out their dreams. But it also stood coldly by while injustice stalked the world. What did the earth’s beauty do for the battered and scarred Carol, still enrapt in her drug induced dreams, or the frightened, skittish Mary, dutifully waiting on my bed, her hand in her quim, making it ready for yet another round of unconsented to use. I asked myself whether the ancient Romans, the Patricians, ever wondered why they had been chosen to live their lives of extravagance and gluttony while millions slaved and starved to feed their masters’ lusts. What reckless god decided that I should be free, a master, with the power to exploit the bodies and minds of a myriad of pretty, young, desirable women, and that they should serve me and the others, with all their choice, privacy and humanity stripped away?
Was my survival worth all of this? I had just whipped a guiltless young woman because she had begged me not to. And I had enjoyed it. My cock was still turgid with blood from my hard on. I reached between the fold of my robe with my free hand and stroked it as I lifted the glass of amber liquor to my lips. I knew that I was going to fuck the pretty slave girl. I would use her body to please my senses, to feed my lust. Someday there would be a reckoning, I thought to myself. But not today.
I went back into the cottage and filled my scotch glass one more time. I then strolled down the hallway to the bedroom. When looked in, I saw Mary, lying with her back propped against the headboard, her legs splayed wide, her eyes closed to slits. Her right hand was in her hairless pu
ssy, slowly gyrating over her moist slit, agitating the tiny bud of pleasure. Her left hand was caressing her breast, cupping it, squeezing the hard nipple on its end. Lost in her desperate, passionate reverie, she had not heard me,. She knew that there would be consequences if her pussy was not ready for use when I came into the bedroom. Her chest was rising and falling in labored response to her lustful excitation. Her hips were moving, ever so slowly, rocking back and forth in an almost mesmerizing rhythm.
Taking a deep gulp of scotch, I entered the room. Mary had heard me now, and her body jumped with surprise and fear. I threw off my brown robe and crept onto the bed. Mary still wore the gag I had had silenced her with before her whipping. But her eyes carried a world of expression, dreading her imminent abuse. I grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her down the bed until she was lying flat. I raised her knees with my arms and circled them around her soft, graceful hips. And then I buried my lips in her hot, moist crevasse, delving my tongue deeply inside.
Mary gave a passionate sigh as my lips enflamed her hot pussy. She was already on the brink of orgasm, obedient to my command. I dragged the tip of my tongue across her clitoris, worrying it, sucking on it with my lips. I could feel her hips squirm beneath me as her lust grew. Her passions were driven higher and higher by my oral caresses. She began to moan and squirm, her hands on my head, one moment, tentatively trying to push it away, the next pushing it firmly down onto her loins. And then she came, grunting her pleasure, thrusting her hips at my dancing tongue. I could hear her moan as her throbbing pussy sent jolts of pleasure through her. When her orgasm started to fade, I slowed my teasing of her loose, distended hole, to let her catch her breath. And then, setting the tip of my tongue atop her pleasure bud, began to tickle and stroke it again.
She gave a long, passionate groan as her lust was renewed. As I supped at her oozing slit, I felt her hands lightly brush my head as if she didn’t know whether to push my tormenting lips away or to encourage them. Her heels dug deeply into the bed, causing her back to arch. She began to buck and struggle as her orgasm began to crest. I held her down, drawing my long, wide tongue the length of her sheath and pressing down at the nubbin at its apex. “Ommmmmmmmm!” she cried behind the leather gag as she came again, harder this time, wildly, as if she were on fire. “Ommmmmmmm! Ommmmmmmm!” she called out, her screams muffled by the thick, long plug of leather in her mouth, her body writhing, her hips twisting and turning in my grasp..
